


the hours slowly when it's only me and you

by whyyesitscar



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: Beau is unlike everyone you’ve ever met (then again, most people are). She cares so much, you know she does, but she cares even more about not showing it. Not for the first time, you wonder why that rule doesn’t really apply to you.// or, the world is so very different than jester thought it would be. mostly canon, with a little flexibility thrown in for flavor.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre & Yasha, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 28
Kudos: 221





	the hours slowly when it's only me and you

**Author's Note:**

> this originated as a prompt from tumblr and very quickly....escalated into something too large for just an ask. to the original anon who sent it: thank you! i hope you're around to read it. to everyone else: please [send me prompts!](https://itcameuponamidnightqueer.tumblr.com/ask) you might just get something like this, apparently.
> 
> title from "hello, hello" by lewis watson, lyrics from "with all my heart" by sufjan stevens, and many thanks to [@youngbloodbuzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngbloodbuzz) for the infinite well of musical inspiration
> 
> please enjoy!

> **selcouth - unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful**

_and you’re all i’ve got  
_ _(i will not rest until i know  
_ _the best Is always with you.)  
_ _and i still believe  
_ _(i confess, the world’s a mess,  
_ _but i will always love you.)_  
_i will save you, i will save you  
_ _from your sorrow._

/

**i.**

Once you get over the fear and sadness of leaving your mama, the world is actually pretty cool.

You’d thought, well, maybe a part of you had thought that you were prepared to leave. You’ve seen all manner of people come through the Lavish Chateau, even if you never talked to them. The world is full of those people, only outside. You see people at their most vulnerable sharing feelings and parts of themselves they only offer behind closed doors, under cover of darkness. You’ve seen more naked bodies than you can count, sometimes in outfits that are more embarrassing than nudity for the people wearing them. You’ve seen and heard all of these things and you haven’t told anyone. You’re so good at keeping secrets because you’ve been one your entire life and you’re totally going to crush living outside where you can be loud and noticed.

But loud is—the world is even louder than you thought loud could be, and you stay out way too late that first night just looking at everything. It isn’t until you meet Fjord a few days later that you realize life outside the Chateau isn’t just bright colors and boisterous crowds of people. Sometimes there are innkeepers who see a nice, good person and overcharge them for a room just because they can. The memory makes your nose crinkle.

Fjord is nice and you trust him, even though he immediately tells you that you shouldn’t. You’re pretty sure he means that in a ‘don’t trust anyone’ general sense and not just him specifically, but either way you’re not going to listen. He’s very handsome and green and more private than you even though he probably didn’t grow up trapped in a brothel. You like listening to him talk with his slow, melodic accent, and the two of you fall into an easy routine very quickly. He doesn’t have the same kinds of stories as the Traveler or any of the books your mama would read, but he speaks very deliberately; the way he chooses what to say and how to say it sometimes makes it sound like he’s singing. You think he probably doesn’t actually have a great singing voice, but that’s okay, because you could cover for him if you ever needed to.

The situation probably won’t ever present itself, but what the fuck do you know—you basically haven’t ever been outside.

Anyway, you travel well together for a few days. Fjord talks to innkeepers and pays the correct amount of coins for two rooms wherever you end up. He tells you about how he wants to go to Rexxentrum and you don’t tell him about how much money you have because you learn very quickly that he didn’t grow up as secure as you in more ways than one.

Sometimes the two of you sit outside on quiet nights when the weather is nice. Fjord builds a fire and you share a pastry or two as it crackles and pops. You laugh and swap stories but you also just look at him sometimes, the way his cheeks resemble emeralds in the soft glow of a flame, the way the streaks of silver in his hair shine in the moonlight. You spend time noticing every bit of him that’s there and searching for the bits that aren’t that maybe should be. His lower lip is a little puffier than his top—you wonder about it, but you never ask.

You’re on the verge of breaking that rule when you meet Beau, and she’s definitely the sort of person who would ask if she felt like it. Beau regards you with disbelief the same way Fjord did, only she’s more obvious about it. She teases you about the jewelry in your horns, the way you get excited about, well, everything. When you decide to travel together and Fjord puts both of you in one room, you give Beau a very obvious and deliberate once-over before you go to sleep, and say what the fuck even are her arm wrappings; she looks like she used to be dead.

She’s surprised for a moment—for just a moment—and then she throws her head back and laughs. It changes her face completely, wiping away the disinterest and fatigue and restless eyes, and you see the kind of adventuring hero you spent your childhood reading about.

You have never had friends before who were always around instead of just when they wanted to be.

You don’t tell Fjord or Beau, but. You’re never letting them go.

/

**ii.**

Friends are more precious than you’d ever thought they could be. You think that, maybe, your mama and the Traveler didn’t really prepare you for friendship that well. The Traveler wasn’t always around but you were never worried that he’d left you, and growing up in an establishment with lots of security and a very well-regarded mother, you never worried that something might happen to her.

But friends are different, and sometimes they are fleeting.

You think of them every second you’re with the slavers. You can’t cast magic and your head is so fuzzy, but you remember Beau’s loud laugh; the rustle of paper that always meant Caleb was nearby; the way Nott skittered from shadow to shadow to come back without dropping a single treasure or being noticed. Any chance you get, you look at Fjord and Yasha and just remember their faces—familiar and safe, even in a place that guarantees neither. Your heart pounds when you see Shakäste, so far from the calming presence he was when you first met him.

When the three of you are finally rescued, you wish you’d thought of Molly more.

Your mama would have liked him so much; you know that for a fact. You wish you’d sent her more messages about him; you wish the messages you did send had been longer and better thought-out. It isn’t fair that you’re meeting so many people and you want to tell everyone everything because isn’t it so amazing, to live and experience the world and you’ve only been out of the house for like two months but you know you’ve had crazier experiences than most—and somehow you have to find a way to fit all of that in two sentences.

How do you describe what you do every day, the people you meet, the things you see even though sometimes you wish you hadn’t, in two sentences?

How are you supposed to fit the whole of Mollymauk Tealeaf into twenty five words, honestly.

The answer of course is that you can’t, but you need to find a way to make sure other people can remember him instead of just you. So you organize your thoughts into stories and practice on Beau, even though she was there for everything anyway. She tells you she doesn’t mind and you believe her because she came back to you fragile. Where once she was hard, now she’s brittle. You’ll never stop wishing that you could have been there. Maybe you couldn’t have helped in the end, but there would have been at least one more person to distribute the pain.

Maybe that’s what Beau’s doing for you now, as she listens to the stories she’s lived with you and doesn’t call you on your embellishments. She just holds you and hears you, and you’re not sure which you appreciate more.

“Hey.” Beau shakes your shoulder just before you get to a really good part. “Sorry,” she adds, probably noticing your pout. “I just had an idea.”

“Okay.”

“I know you don’t like wasting pages of your sketchbook, and maybe we can steal some paper from Caleb tomorrow, but...I got to be a pretty good note-taker with the monks and maybe—”

“Maybe what?”

Beau sighs. You’re not sure if she’s reluctant to share her idea or embarrassed by it, and if it’s the second one it’s so silly—there isn’t anything Beau should be embarrassed by around you.

“I love hearing your stories,” Beau continues, “but the two of us can only hold so much of him. But maybe I could, I dunno, write down what you’re saying. It wouldn’t be pretty or anything but Caleb could help us clean it up later; he’s all smart and shit—”

“Beau.” You sit up and turn around to face her, twisting the blankets underneath you into a messy spiral.

“What?” She blushes, just a little, and scoots up a bit to mirror you.

“You’re very smart,” you murmur. “Smart and good and nice. Molly would be proud of you.”

“Right.” Beau scoffs but she doesn’t sound annoyed like she usually does. She probably is embarrassed, you think. You’ll ask her about it later. “Maybe,” she shrugs.

“He would, Beau!” You push her shoulder because you mean it so much. “Molly liked you.”

“He was starting to, I guess,” Beau concedes. “Maybe he wouldn’t have said he was proud now, but—” She shakes her head. “I dunno. I’m gonna try to get there.”

You sit and just take a moment to look at her—the way her hair hangs as she looks down at her lap; her nervous fingers twisting around each other in her lap. Beau is unlike everyone you’ve ever met (then again, most people are). She cares so much, you know she does, but she cares even more about not showing it. Not for the first time, you wonder why that rule doesn’t really apply to you.

“Maybe we could kind of just write down _everything_ we’ve done,” you suggest. “You know, before we forget; and we could send them to my mama, because, well, just in case—”

Beau picks at one of her nails. “Just in case what, Jester?”

You blush and sigh. “Well, it’s just that I don’t—I don’t want to be forgotten, any of us.”

“Jes.” Beau looks up and rests her hand on your knee. Her fingers are strong, a warm contrast to your skin that’s perpetually cool even underneath your skirt. “I promise you,” she smiles, “you’re definitely not the kind of person who gets forgotten.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I mean—well—I won’t forget you for sure.” She clears her throat and gives your knee a little squeeze.

“Oh.” Your mouth falls in disappointment for a moment before you lift it into a smile. You squeeze her wrist right back. “Thanks, Beau.” She nods and you get up to get your sketchbook, flipping to a clean page and telling her to write small.

That’s the other side of having friends, you suppose—preparing yourself for when they leave.

In that way, at least, you’ll never forget Molly.

/

**iii.**

Something changes after Molly, which isn’t really surprising. You’ve known everyone for just over a month (Caduceus only a few days), but it’s hard not to feel some sort of family way about them when they rescued you. Your few friends at home were friends based on shared interests; these are friends rooted in shared experience. You hope maybe someday you’ll all be each other’s shared interest, because that’s what family is, right?

Anyway. You stick close to Beau in the days after your reunion. She keeps looking over your shoulder when you walk next to each other and you think it’s because she’s paranoid about what might be following the group. It takes a few days to realize she’s actually looking at your tail, clocking the different places it’s wrapped around her body. You blush and pull away, but Beau shakes her head—almost imperceptibly, but you see it. You wonder why she hasn’t said anything, or if she was even going to.

You’re glad for your tail wrapped around her, the tether between the two of you. You look at her in silence, for too long to see where you’re going anymore but it doesn’t matter because you have Beau to guide you.

She sleeps closer these days, even when you’re not sharing a bed. The ghosts of the Iron Shepherds linger with her just as much as they do for you—you see it in the way she checks on you first after a fight; you feel it in her hand on your back when you step through a door or swing yourself into a cart, the way she gently shakes your shoulder to wake you up. Beau is always awake before you, so quiet in her morning meditation and exercises. You still don’t know if that’s how she’s always done it or if she’s being careful for the group. One of these days you’ll wake up to watch her. It just feels so good to sleep knowing she’s there protecting all of you.

You watch her in the sparse downtime you have over the next few weeks. Beau’s stoicism is different from Caleb’s—where he is calculated out of paranoia, Beau is very good at watching people. It’s so fun to watch her punch bad guys because she’s so good at it, but you remember she’s a monk when she isn’t fighting. Beau is riveting and dangerous, talking with the Plank King. She’s so _good_ at it, and your heart rate skyrockets at the ease with which Beau condemns Avantika. Curious, then, that she turns away from the reality of her death.

Not for the first time, you wonder what Beau was like at the Cobalt Soul.

You’re glad you know the version of her after them, though. In the wake of Twiggy and the dragon, you know that your Beau is probably the best version of herself she’s ever been. Beau rounds out your definition of friend that the Traveler started—she is more present, working on being as considerate as he is. Beau has grown _so_ much in the last few weeks and you know how hard she’s trying.

So it kind of blows your mind when she talks to you on the boat, even though it shouldn’t. Beau tells you that she loves you and you love her back, because you love everyone, basically. But you also love her because she’s Beau, and it isn’t really what you thought love would be. Love in your books is strong, even when it hurts. It’s just there, a feeling you can hold onto and trust to carry your weight.

This love, though—it rarely settles. You think of nothing else for a few moments as the boat rocks. You think of your friends, of the things you keep learning about them. Hard things, gentle things—things even you wish you could bury for them. So many of your friends are digging holes, and you have to believe that there is enough of you to fill them.

Beau stirs when you return to the quarters you share. You think it’s probably because the wood creaks in the wind and under your feet, but sometimes she just seems to wake up when you get close enough. Maybe she’s just a light sleeper, but a part of you hopes that she’s not.

“That you, Jes?” Beau mumbles, voice muffled and thick with sleep.

“If it weren’t, you’d probably be dead by now,” you smile.

Beau rolls over, wiping her eyes. “Nah, I knew it was you. Just didn’t want to spook you when you came over to talk and I was staring at you or something.”

“You knew it was me?”

“Sure. We’ve spent enough time together; I always know.”

“Oh.” Something in your chest fizzes and sparks.

This cabin is small and there’s only one bed, definitely not wide enough to fit two people comfortably but you snuggle in anyway. Beau shifts to accommodate you, pulling one of your arms across her waist. You’ve slept this close since the beginning out of necessity, but the arm—an occasional feature when Kiri was around—has become mandatory since Molly. You hope that someday, Beau will take other comforts from you, but this will do for now.

“Beau?” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Did you mean it? That you love me?”

Beau tenses in your arms; you watch her shoulders squeeze together just a bit. “Yeah. Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.”

Beau audibly sighs and rolls over, trying her best not to break up the way you’re holding her. She looks tired and on her way to peaceful, even after the super stressful last few days.

“I just…no one’s ever said that to me besides the Traveler and my mama,” you continue.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never, um—” Beau clears her throat; you think you can spot a blush in the narrow beam of moonlight. “You know what, don’t worry about it. I meant it.”

You melt, just a little. “Beau. You’ve never told anyone you love them? Not even your parents?”

Beau laughs but it’s not a happy one. “Yeah, they—definitely not them. We have a complicated relationship.”

You shift, resting one of your ankles lazily on top of Beau’s. “Do you love them, though? Even if you never said it?”

“I dunno,” Beau shrugs. “Maybe my mom. Definitely my mom,” she amends. “But it took me a while to get there. There was one person I knew I loved when I was with her, but I never told her.”

“Why not?”

This time the blush is hard to miss. “She wasn’t the kind of person to say it back,” Beau mumbles. “Anyway, don’t worry about me, Jes. I won’t ever tell you something I don’t mean.”

Beau looks down and you’re glad for it, because you suddenly feel on the verge of tears. “Okay,” you whisper. You scoot up a little so you’re not breathing right into Beau’s face. Plus, this is the only way you get to be taller than Beau, even if it’s only for a few hours.

She presses into you even more and you wish you had a bigger blanket, something plushy like you have back at home that you could wrap her all the way in. She deserves to be pampered, to be celebrated. One of these days you’ll convince Beau that she’s so much more than she thinks she is.

The ship creaks as it rocks on the waves; water splashes against the small window on the far side of the room. You close your eyes and slow your breathing, listening for Beau to do the same.

You don’t let yourself fall asleep until you hear her snoring.

/

**iv.**

It’s kind of funny, how quickly things disappear. You’ve been with Beau for almost a year now and she’s become—you’re pretty sure ‘friend’ doesn’t do it justice. It feels different when you spend every day together; when you share a house and a room and your feelings, or maybe that is what friends do. You’re pretty sure it’s not, though.

Anyway, Beau is your favorite person and she’s become something wonderful—and just like that, you wake up outside of Kamordah like you’re meeting her for the first time. You can feel the walls she’s put up; they’re tall and thick and covered in spikes that probably even Yasha couldn’t knock down. Beau listens when you reassure her, and she lets all of you hug her outside of her parents’ house, but it’s quick and loose, not anything like the hugs you’ve gotten used to as of late.

You understand what she meant about her mom when you go inside. Beau is hurt and scarred from her past and that will probably never go away. But you see the hunger in her eyes, the ache for what might have been. You haven’t known Beau to be a pining person, but maybe the timing just wasn’t right.

You can’t stop looking at Clara when she’s in the room even though you’re so, so worried about Beau. It’s just that there is so much of Beau in Clara—the lean figure, her warm skin and slender nose. Clara is unmistakably beautiful, and for a moment you think you have a picture of the girl Beau used to be, shut in and taught to abide by the rules of a superstitious man. If there were dresses in her closet, Beau’s parents never attempted to know her at all.

Your heart swoops at the memory of Beau letting you clothe her in one of yours. You add kindness to the list of reasons why you’re holding back tears.

Clara doesn’t stay when Thoreau walks in, and you wish she would. It’s oddly comforting to see the same yearning in Clara’s eyes that’s so noticeably absent in Thoreau’s. Sending a message to Clara after you leave would be unforgivable, but gods, do you want to.

You never knew you could feel this much for someone at once—that you could house this many feelings at all, really. Caduceus shuffles closer and touches your wrist a few times, pointing at your jittery fingers when you look down. You press them against your skirt, squeeze them into fists; whatever you need to do to hide the shaking. Beau is made of walls right now, but she’s going to need a solid one to lean against when hers fall. For her, you will iron out your cracks.

Apart from the words of reassurance you whisper during the group hug in the rain, you’re quiet after you leave the estate. Beau gradually sinks back into the group—slowing her pace so she’s not walking ahead of everyone, sitting mostly close at the bar once you decide to turn in for the night.

You’re all piled in one dirty room and it’s not very big, but you pull her off to the side anyway. You think maybe Fjord directed everyone else further away because suddenly there’s lots of space between the two of you and the other end of the room where everyone else is. You’ll thank him later.

“I’m proud of you, Beau,” you say, resting your hand on her shoulder. “That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.”

“Sure,” Beau scoffs. She steps back and slides down the wall, crouching as low as she can get without actually sitting on the floor. “You were alone against a dragon and a big fucking golem, but sure—this was brave.”

You glance at the floor and pretend not to see all the stains on it, then you sit down and join Beau. You can’t crouch as well as she can, and certainly not for as long, so you’ll just have to wash your dress a few extra times the next chance you get.

You scooch over until your shoulders are touching and place your hand on Beau’s knee, pulling it gently towards you. “I mean it, and I haven’t ever told you something I didn’t mean.” You look over and wait for her to smile. It’s small, but she does.

“You don’t have to talk about it ever again if you don’t want to, but—before you guys, my mama spent every day looking at me with so, _so_ much love, and I saw a lot of that today. Not from...well. But you have at least one parent who wants to know you, if that’s what you want. I mean, at least from what I could tell—”

“Jes.” Beau puts her hand over yours, swiping her thumb across the back of your wrist. “I got it, okay? Thanks.”

“Okay.” You stretch your thumb until you can curl it over one of her fingers. “I know we’ve said it a lot lately, but we love you. I love you, so much.”

Beau nods and sniffs. You sit next to her and wait, squeeze any part of her that you can so she knows you’re there.

“Thanks, Jes. It, um—” She laughs, thick and throaty, and wipes her eyes with the hand not holding yours. “Never gets old to hear. We should say it more to each other, you know? I mean, uh, all of us; you know, just wear Caleb and Nott down until they can’t shut up about how much we mean to them…”

You lean your head against her shoulder. “That sounds good, Beau.”

You’re glad you said it so much that day. After the hag, you think maybe you really have to work on making Beau believe it.

Fjord and Caleb pester her with affection until she cracks, as you suppose older brothers might. You’re glad to see her smile and you think some of it sinks in, but not enough. You’ve heard both of them say wonderful, heartfelt things about everyone in the party, and you wish they’d had some of those words for Beau tonight.

You wish you had some to offer, but you’re not sure what you need to say that you haven’t said already. Beau is your best friend, your roommate, the one person you share everything with. She knows how much you love her because you tell her every chance you get. You write Molly’s stories together; you got tattoos together; she tolerates playing dress-up and sometimes you braid her hair and you share a bed when you’re traveling.

What kind of pain is she holding onto if she loves you through all of those things, and still offers to walk away?

You linger near Beau in the hut and when you teleport back to Rosohna, but you don’t say much. Never mind making sure that she knows you love her—you’re not sure of anything you want to say to her. You know her sacrifice came from a place of good intent and loyalty, but it—hurts is too small for what you’re feeling, but it’s all you can think of.

Beau spends a lot of time on the roof once you get back to the Xhorhaus and you peek in on her every once in a while, just to make sure she’s really there. But you don’t linger very long. You take some time to draw—you take a _lot_ of time to draw, actually; there is so much inside you that needs to come out.

Eventually, when the quiet is too much, you make your way to Yasha’s room. You can’t hear her from the hallway but you know she’s in there simply because you haven’t seen her anywhere else.

“Yasha?” You knock twice, then fold your hands behind your back and sway a little. “Can I talk to you?”

Yasha quietly opens the door. “Of course, Jester.”

You haven’t been in her room since you painted her mural, at least not while she’s been with the party. It still isn’t very homey, except for a vase of flowers on the bedside table. You start thinking about things you can make to add to the decor. You can even leave the dicks out of most of them.

Yasha sits on her bed, back straight and hands folded in her lap. “What did you want to talk about?”

You sigh and flop down on the bed next to her. “Lots of things, I guess,” you grumble. “But mostly...I’m worried about Beau.”

“Mm.” Yasha sits with that for a little bit. She’s like Caleb that way—they both take more time than most to really think about what to say before crafting their response. You’ve learned to be patient because of them. “Do you think she’ll try to leave again?”

You shake your head. “I think Fjord and Caleb got through to her about that, at least.”

“But there are things they didn’t get through to her about?”

“Not just them. I guess—I don’t understand why it’s so hard for Beau to feel loved when she’s so good at giving that to other people.”

“Ah. Well, I think I can probably help with that.”

You pivot on the bed, crossing your legs, and gesture for Yasha to do the same. It instantly changes the mood into something like last night, when all of you were huddled close in the dome. You can’t help but smile at Yasha, so mysterious and large and looming, sinking into the familiarity of a sleepover.

“You were very lucky to grow up the way you did, Jester,” Yasha continues. “I’m sure you would have liked to go outside, but your mother loves you very much. Obviously none of us really know what Beau was like before we met her, but I don’t think she was very used to people caring for her. It is a scary thing to open yourself up that way because it has to be a doorway, you know? Love that only comes from one direction isn’t really love. And I think Beau is still working on walking both paths.”

“Yasha…” You look at her and try very hard not to cry because you’re sure it would probably make her uncomfortable. You swallow a bunch of feelings and smile, which you’re very good at. “I’m here if you want someone to walk with.”

“Thank you, Jester.” She pauses again, but this time she seems to be waiting for you. “Is there something else bothering you?”

“Well. I don’t know.” You draw circles in Yasha’s blanket with your finger. “I feel like—I think I should say something to Beau to make sure she stays but I’m not sure how to put it all into words.”

“You don’t think Beau will try to leave again but you also want to say something to make her stay?”

You furrow your brows. “Yes? Why; is that weird?”

“No, I just wanted to make sure I understood you. What would you say to her?”

“I don’t know.” You look down and focus on your circles. “That she’s my best friend and there were a bunch of times in fights and stuff where I might not have made it except she saved me, or that sometimes my favorite thing to do is sit and draw while she works out in the morning. And that, you know, I think I could help her get comfortable with this version of her that everyone cares about because I did it first, or something. I would tell her that I love her, I guess, but that wasn’t enough to make her stay in the first place, so. I feel like I mean more than that but I—I don’t know how to say it.”

“Jester.” Yasha covers your hand with hers and stops the endless circles. “I know what you mean,” she smiles, “and you just said it. I think you should tell her exactly that.”

“What, all of that?” You scrunch your nose up. “You don’t think it’s, I don’t know, too mushy or something?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Duh.”

Yasha shrugs. “Then it’s not ‘too’ anything.”

Oh.

“Thanks, Yasha,” you whisper. She mutters a soft ‘you’re welcome’ and guides you up from the bed, her strong hand warm and insistent on your elbow.

You and Beau are so good at meaning everything you say to each other. Perhaps it’s time you said everything you mean.

/

**v.**

You were definitely planning on talking to her as soon as you could, but then Nott brought back a housekeeper who was totally trying to cheat her and of course that had to be handled. Then you all teleported to a really hot jungle, walked around and sweated until you found somewhere to camp, and now.

Now your life is truly changed because the Traveler is...not what you thought he was.

You walk back to the dome and you’re ready to wake Beau up because someone else needs to know this right away and she’s always the first person you want to tell anything.

She’s already waiting outside when you get close enough to see, arms crossed and leg shaking.

Beau jogs toward you when she sees you walking back.

“Jes!” she whisper-yells as you close the distance. “Where the fuck did you go?”

“Woof, it’s a really long story,” you exhale.

Beau catches up to you and stops you in place, grabbing your shoulders and giving you a very thorough inspection. “Are you hurt, are you okay? Where were you?”

You chuckle and put your hands on either side of her head to stop her searching. “I’m fine, Beau. I was visiting with the Traveler. What are you doing awake?”

“Uh.” Beau blushes, pulls your hands from her cheeks. “I was gonna sit with you for your watch. There’s—I gotta tell you something.”

“What? No, I need to tell _you_ something. A few somethings, actually.”

“Okay,” Beau laughs. “I can’t wait to hear them. But can I go first? Because if I don’t say this now I’m never going to and it deserves saying.”

“Of course, Beau.” You take her hand and walk back toward the dome, stopping at a crop of trees about thirty feet away. The dome is hidden and Beau is fast if anything happens, but you have a feeling that you’ll get through this night safe and protected.

“Jes, I, um—” She stuffs her hands in her pockets, looks down and rocks back on her heels before taking your hands again with both of hers. “I gotta tell you something about that Zone of Truth spell.”

Something drops heavy into your stomach and then comes up just as quickly, like that really satisfying _sploosh_ noise when a big rock falls in water. “Oh no, should I not have done it? I’m sorry, Beau; I’ll get better about asking people before I do spells like that…”

Beau shakes her head. “No, it’s fine that you cast it, Jes. It’s not the kind of spell you should be asking before you use, at least not when you use it for real. Don’t worry about that. No, um, it’s—” She takes a deep breath, tickles her fingers along your palm. “If I hadn’t butted in when you asked about crushes, Nott probably would have said something.”

“What? _Nott_ has a crush on me?” you blurt, immediately shrinking back when you remember what happened the last time you made too much noise in a forest. “Nott has a crush on me?” you repeat, whispering this time.

“No! It’s—gods. It’s been eating at me, Jester, since the spell and before, because you deserve to know and it’s so hard to keep secrets from you but—” She shrugs and swings her hands wide, taking yours with them. “Nott doesn’t have a crush on you but she knows someone who does, because I told her. Because it’s me. But it’s like—” Beau lets go of your hands and covers her eyes with her fingers. “I told her it was a crush,” she says, muffled against her palms, “but it’s not. I mean, it was. And then it kind of...exploded? Like really, really exploded, and now I, um. Love you, I guess.”

You let your mouth hang open because you don’t know what else to do, and that’s what Beau sees when she lowers her arms.

She blushes immediately. “Okay, well, that was great. I’m gonna—”

“Oh my god, Beau.”

“Yeah, you know what; we don’t have to do this right now.”

“Beau!”

“I got it, Jes; this is a lot. It’s a lot! So I’m just gonna go back to bed and you can take watch, or I can take watch and you go to bed, or—”

“Beau.” You cover her mouth with your hand and you can feel how hard she’s trying not to breathe on it. She raises her eyebrows and you take a deep breath, already planning on thanking Yasha in the morning.

“You’re my best friend and there were a bunch of times in fights and stuff where I might not have made it except you saved me, and my favorite thing to do is sit and draw while you work out in the morning, and I think I could help you get comfortable with this version of you that everyone cares about because I did it first and I love you and really I mean more than that but I don’t know how to say it that well except for I love you _so_ much.”

You bend over and suck in as much air as you can manage, your hand still preventing Beau from speaking. “Yasha said to tell you that,” you gasp.

“What?” Beau mumbles against your hand. She shakes her head and steps back to let your hand fall. “Yasha? What?”

“Yeah, we had a talk after everything that happened with your parents and the witch because I was just...feeling a _lot_ of things, Beau. And Yasha is a very good person to explain things to because she’s so patient.”

“What kinds of things were you feeling?”

“Oh, well.” You hold out your hands and put down a finger for each word. “Sad, angry, disappointed, scared, confused—”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Beau holds up a hand. “I got the gist. And you were, you were feeling these things about me and not just the witch?”

“No, I—” You scrunch your eyebrows together. “I wasn’t feeling any of those things about the witch. It was all about you. Because, you know, so am I, kind of.”

“This is”—Beau exhales—“a lot to process. Are you saying you’re scared of me?”

“Scared of losing you, Beau,” you whisper. “I would have—I don’t know what I would have done if you had gone through with it and put yourself in exile. You’re the first person I loved besides my mama and the Traveler; I don’t _ever_ want to lose you.”

“Jes, you tell basically everyone that you love them.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I mean, I guess I do, but it’s not the same. Between home and all those books I thought I knew what love was, you know? And what it felt like to love someone, and some of that’s still true. I thought love was, like, a big well or something—like I could just keep scooping out of it and handing love out to people forever. But you—I think sometime after that night on the boat, the well swelled all the way to the top every time I looked at you. That’s what I didn’t know, I guess. Love isn’t draining. Love fills you up.”

It’s Beau’s turn now, to stand in silence with her mouth hanging open.

You step closer, hook a finger under her chin and close her lips. “Please don’t leave, Beau,” you whisper, trying your hardest not to cry. “Not now, not ever. I want to keep you safe, and I can’t do that if you’re not here.”

If Beau had more hair, you’d brush it away from her face and smile because you’re standing close to her and you love her and she knows. But her hair is still neatly tied atop her head, so you just brush the side of her face instead, scratching your nails into the buzzed hair at her temples.

“You look like your mom.” You smile anyway, because you’re standing close to her and you love her and she knows. “You’re very pretty, Beau, and also handsome, and I love you so much and I want to spend forever telling you all the ways I love you because I find, like, three new ones every day.”

Beau grins and sniffles, unsuccessfully blinks back a few tears. Her hand reaches up to clasp your wrist. “Just three?” she murmurs.

“Oh, well—three, twelve, a million…”

Beau kisses you.

There are a thousand birds chirping and hooting in the trees. The air is humid and heavy even at night, and your hair is sticking to your forehead. Your friends are sleeping in the dome, hopefully not getting attacked or killed, but your world has narrowed to only Beau. Beau and her mouth against yours, her arms wrapped around your back, the quiver in her lips every time she breathes.

You kiss her and wipe away her tears until she’s overwhelmed.

Beau leans her forehead against yours when she pulls away, letting out a few shaky breaths. “If anyone’s going to keep me, I’d want it to be you,” she says. “ _God_ , Jes, I—you fill me up, too.”

“Oh.” Suddenly you’re on the verge of tears yourself. “I didn’t know how nice that was to hear.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Beau laughs. She pulls back and kisses your forehead, lets her hands drag down your cheeks, your neck, before coming to rest on your collar bones. “I love you,” she says, deep and steady, never looking away.

You kiss her again, because—as you’ve just learned very quickly—sometimes a kiss says things better than words can. Beau relaxes this time; you can feel her shoulders melt under your embrace. You wrap your arms around her, bury your face in her neck and expel any bit of tension you might still be clinging onto.

“Please don’t leave,” you mutter into her shoulder. “I know Fjord and Caleb poked you a bunch until you promised not to, but—”

“I won’t,” she promises. “This would have worked better than the poking, you know. Just an FYI.”

“Okay,” you giggle. “I’ll remember that.” You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth that Beau offers. Something important sparks in the fuzziness of your mind. “Oh.” You stifle a yawn and mostly succeed. “By the way, the Traveler is a god because I made him one.”

“Uh. What?”


End file.
